Coach Dooley said: “We gotta run the ball”He praised opponents, large and small.It was the Irish, of course, Vince helped us beat,When we partied down on Bourbon Street.

And good ole’ Erk made the defense go;Head to helmet and his veins would flow.“Fires up the dawgs,” we’d hear him say,“See’n that blood really makes’em play.”

There’s Hearst and Hastings and Eric Zeier;Back in ’92 they set the world afire.Jake Scott, Bill Stanfill and the Florida game;Gators still cringe when they hear their names.

Johnson, Lastinger and Kasay, too;In the final seconds they all came through.And the Butler did it in ’84;From 60 yards he slammed the door.

But perhaps the greatest dawg of all,Has never played a down of ball.He’s loved the Dawgs through thick and thin,From top to bottom and back again.

Though not from Georgia, nor even the South,It was long ago the North left his mouth.He’s liltin Larry of broadcast fame.Just say “Munson” and we’ll know the name.

“My God a Freshman,” you’ll hear us say,though none can growl it quite the same way.“Those guys are big” and “Man, they’re strong,”“They’ve been pushing us around all day long”.

There’s “Sugar from the sky” and “Woerner, Woerner, Woerner,”“McClendon just scored in the far right corner.”Tales of “Run, Lindsey Run” and “Ol’ Lady Luck.”And opponents who wish he’d be hit by a truck.

“We saved ourselves,” we’ve heard Larry shout,although he reserved such statements for games in doubt.Always “We” and “Our” or “Them” and “us”It’s Munson the homer that our enemies cuss.

They’ve spit in the face and hit him with drinks,But Munson has no concern for what other fans think.“I’ve Lit the cigar,” they’ll all hear him say,as the Dawgs savor the victory on a fine Autumn day.

And when the day comes when his voice is no more,We’ll sit down with our child in a love-inspired chore.“His name was Munson,” we’ll say, choking back tears,and we’ll pop in a tape and remember the cheers.

“There was no one better,” then we let out a sigh,The child will just smile as he sits on your thigh.You must start them early, you’ve always been told.But will your efforts work? Will the Bulldawg take hold?

In route to the games with recordings of Larry;Thoughts of your kid at Auburn are really quite scary;But you don’t say a word and just hope it sinks in;While returning from Athens you both speak of the win.

The years pass like months, and months pass like days,And your son is adjusting to some high school phase.Then one day, rather sudden, decision time will arrive.You hope he’ll choose Georgia , but know you’ll survive.

“Dad” he will say, and you try not to blink,“I’ve made up my mind, I need to know what you think”And then he’ll say something that would make Larry proud,Not timid, not shy – in fact, really quite loud.

“I’m going to Georgia,” he will say with a grin,and you remember the day that you helped it begin.But before you recover, there’s a favor to ask,Can I borrow your Munson tapes, for the guys in my class?”